Connections
by DesertOrchid7485
Summary: Connections were made and Payback was repaid. Nick whump!
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Connections

**Summary: **Connections were made and Payback was repaid. Nick whump!

**Rating: **PG-13

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing of Grimm or its characters; that privilege belongs to someone else.

**Author's Note: **Got this idea while watching 3.03. Hope you enjoy!

**Preface:**

"_You know, you connected there," Monroe said, pointing to his head. _

_Nick pointed to his and responded, "Yeah, you too." _

**oOo**

They had made a deal. He knew it and he knew that Nick knew it. But somehow, Monroe couldn't find it in himself to fully care at the moment. Nick's tackle had only been a small surprise as the entire fight had been, essentially, staged, but once the connection had been made, the fight was on.

With every hit Nick made, Monroe returned one. The Grimm managed to keep his blows light, showing just how little muscle he was putting into them. But Monroe was too angry and, okay, maybe he did hold a little bit of a grudge against his friend for the beating he'd received while Nick had been a zombie. He made sure that every hit he landed, not only connected but hurt.

By the end of the fight, Nick wasn't trying to be gentle anymore and Monroe saw stars with one of Nick's punches. It was only fair, he supposed, since he hadn't been showing the Grimm any mercy the entire time. But his more animal side didn't register the logic; it registered the renewed threat and it answered in kind. With the new pain, he give a vicious growl and kicked Nick as hard as he could, sending the detective flying towards where Hank and the murderer stood a few feet away. He landed hard on the unforgiving ground and the more human – and less angry side – winced at the sound. That was going to hurt later on, that was for sure.

Monroe was just about to charge the pig when Nick was suddenly up in front of him, with his gun pointed at Monroe. The blutbad had to admit, the Grimm was a good actor. He almost believed the entire scenario that Nick was painting for the chef. Okay, so he knew that the Grimm didn't _really _want to shoot him, and they had planned it so that it would only look like he had, but the fear and pleading in his eyes looked real enough to Monroe to calm the wolf inside and bring him back to reality. Back to the plan.

He focused on putting all his anger into his speech as he talked, choosing to use the blood slowly sliding down the side of Nick's face to bring the wolf out rather than zeroing in on the guilt he could feel coming at causing the wound in the first place.

Among the multiple howls from Monroe's fellow blutbadden friends, he could hear Nick's rapid heartbeat and shallow breathing. Knowing that he must have done some damage to the detective's side when he'd kicked him, Monroe stilled the instant wince that wanted to come onto his face. Maybe he shouldn't have tried to dole out as much payback as he had. Then again, Nick could have stopped him if he'd wanted to so maybe Monroe shouldn't feel so bad after all.

_You mean he could have _tried _to stop you, _an animalistic voice echoed inside his head and bringing forth a picture of him in full woge, smiling tauntingly. It was hard not to react to the idea and the image – he _was _supposed to be playing dead after all – but he managed it.

Assuaging the guilt seemed the easier thing to do and so that was what he did. He waited until he could no longer hear the Dodge before he got off the ground, wincing a little as he did so. His face was beginning to ache quite a bit by now and so he thanked his friends and headed to the precinct to meet up with Nick, Hank, and Captain Renard as was planned.

He listened with barely controlled anger as the pig showed no remorse while he signed the confession. Going to jail seemed too light a punishment to Monroe but he knew that Nick was cop before he was a Grimm and so he tried to let it be enough, just like Nick had done when Angelina had escaped arrest the first time they'd met.

"You know, you connected there," Monroe said, pointing at where he now held an ice pack against his face. He, of course, ignored the way Nick was moving a bit stiffly and more gingerly just so he wouldn't have to feel the guilt that he knew would be waiting for him if he acknowledged it.

"Yeah, you did too," Nick reminded him, pointing at the cut at the corner of his eye. Thankfully it was a small one and had been attended to. Though he wouldn't come right out and admit it, Monroe still wanted to pay Nick back some more for the epic beating and so he really didn't have that great a control over his inner wolf at the moment. The smell of the Grimm's blood would be a little too tantalizing for him to resist and Monroe knew that he would be on his friend, attacking with vigor, before he could even register what he was doing.

By some silent agreement, the two agreed to call it even and didn't start pointing out all the different places that they had hurt one another – which Monroe had no doubt they would have started to do soon if they hadn't stopped. Captain Renard made a very bad pun about the common Little Piggies nursery rhyme and that was that. The case was closed and Monroe and his friends were safe.

**oOo**

Hank, Nick and Monroe walked out of the precinct together, being told to go home and get some rest by the Captain. Nick and Monroe were quiet as they walked and Hank stole a glance at the two friends in an effort to determine why.

The clockmaker kept glancing slyly over at Nick, his eyes tracing over the cut by Nick's eye. If Hank had to guess, he'd say that the taller man felt bad for the punishment he'd given Nick and while Hank could understand why the wesen had done it, he also believed that he should feel bad.

They'd all agreed that it hadn't been Nick's fault, whatever he'd done while under the Baron's influence. Now, granted, being able to mentally know that and emotionally believe it were two very different and difficult things. Heck, Hank had been tempted to goad Nick into the training area for a bit of payback himself, but eventually the detective had been able to let things go. Mostly.

Apparently Monroe hadn't been able to do any such thing.

Nick winced as he shifted to get out of the way of some incoming uni's and Hank instinctively reached out a hand to steady him when it looked as though he may be a bit unsure on his feet. As it turned out, he needn't have worried. Nick had been fine, if not in pain, and hadn't needed the helping hand. In fact, he winced at the contact of Hank's hand on his arm.

Tired of knowing that his friend and partner was hurt but not knowing how badly, Hank said, "You okay?" He doubted that he'd get a real answer from Nick but he figured he'd better try at least.

"Yeah," Nick answered, actually managing to make it sound like the truth. "Just been a long day."

All three of them knew that it hadn't been that long of a day compared to some they've had in the past but they all let it slide. God knows the week had been long enough. Things were just beginning to calm down after the whole Baron fiasco and people were slowly beginning to accept or forget what had happened. Hank knew that everything Nick had done, every injury he'd caused and the life he'd taken were still weighing heavily on the younger detective, but since there wasn't anything he could do for that, he left him be.

"Come on," he said, nodding his head in the direction the Dodge was parked. "I'll take you home. Maybe Juliette can make you feel better."

He hadn't meant it the way it had come out, but Monroe had snorted and Nick had let out a breathy laugh anyways. The way Nick tried not to breathe too deeply reminded Hank of when he'd been beaten up by Stark, landing him in the hospital, badly bruised. Man, if Nick was hurting that much to have Hank connecting this incident to that, he was really hurting. One look at Monroe told him that the clockmaker had made the same connection and he quickly averted his eyes to hide his embarrassment.

"You know," the taller man said before they could part, "I think Rosalee might have something that could help back at the Spice Shop."

"Thanks, Monroe," Nick said, sounding every bit as exhausted as he looked. "But I'm really just tired. I think I'll just go home."

"No, you won't," Hank argued with a scoffed laugh. He didn't actually know if the shop owner had something to help Nick but it had to be better to have Monroe and Hank there with him to make him behave rather than leaving it all up to Juliette who had been showing the strain of the past week as obviously as she had a smile.

When Nick turned to glare at him, Hank shook his head and held up his hand to stall any argument. "We both know that you will go home, tell Juliette that you're fine and go to bed and judging from the way you're walking, the bruised ribs could use some attention."

"Great. That's settled then," Monroe said a little too cheerily while not giving Nick a chance to persuade them that he was okay when he wasn't. "I'll just, you know, let Rosalee know what's goin on and meet you there."

"Okay," Hank answered, knowing that Nick wasn't going to. His partner hated being manhandled into taking care of himself and therefore he was quietly stewing in anger. Hank once again nodded to the Dodge and said, "Come on." He stepped aside, ready to herd Nick towards the vehicle if it was needed.

Recognizing defeat when it was staring him in the face, Nick did as he was told, not even bothering to argue, though he did glare quite a bit. Hank frowned at the lack of response from his friend but he didn't comment. He followed behind the other man until he was in the car and – after many winces and a couple grimaces – buckled in. Then and only then did he climb into the driver's seat and drive off towards the Spice Shop.

Nick sat silently in the passenger seat, holding himself as still as possible. His eyes were closed but Hank could tell by how tightly his friend's jaw was clenched that he wasn't asleep.

"I thought Grimms were supposed be stronger," he pointed out, hoping to distract Nick from his discomfort.

"We are," Nick responded, his breath hitching when Hank hit a bump in the road. "It doesn't help so much when we're fighting a wesen in full woge, though." His breath hitched again and then he added, "Then, we're pretty much even."

"Yeah, speaking of that, I thought you and Monroe were only going to play-fight. When did it actually turn into bruising one another?"

"Evidently Monroe is still a little upset about the beating I gave him while under the Baron's influence," Nick answered, sounding not entirely sure if that was the true case or not. His voice lost a bit of its shakiness, replacing in it a bar of steel that chilled Hank despite the warmth of the car.

Hank supposed that if he hadn't known his partner as well as he had, he wouldn't have heard the anger in his voice. He would have supposed it for something else entirely. Then again, he probably would have thought it was anger, he just would have thought it was aimed at him rather than at Nick himself. The older detective sighed.

"Stop beating yourself up for that, man," he lectured. Since this conversation had taken place precisely five times previous, however, Hank knew that his words would fall on deaf ears. He still said them anyways. "It wasn't your fault and you know it."

''Ask Juliette how it felt to be hit by you'," Nick whispered, reminding Hank what he'd thrown in Nick's face when he was going to confess for the murder. "That's what you said. And now you're telling me it wasn't my fault. One minute you're all trying to convince me that it's all okay and that it's all forgotten and then the next minute you're all reminding me in some form or another that I am, or was, a monster. Sometimes, I wish you'd all make up your minds."

Where the hell had that come from?!

Yeah, so Hank _may _have been a bit harsh when he'd been confronting the Grimm about turning himself in but he hadn't thought that his words would have, ever, been thrown back in his face. That was normally something that women did, not Nick. Then again, if they'd been going through Nick's head over and over again, it probably wasn't out of spite that Nick was giving them back to him; they'd more than likely hurt his friend on a deeper level than Hank could have supposed.

"Who's been telling you that you're a monster?" Hank asked, barely controlling himself in time to stop from slamming on the breaks and no doubt adding to Nick's pain. Even so, his hands tightened on the steering wheel, his knuckles losing a bit of their color.

"Doesn't matter," Nick dismissed, this time looking out the window. It was obvious that, to him, the conversation was over. Hank thought about pressing it but he knew that now wasn't the time for it, so he didn't. Maybe Rosalee could talk some sense into him. She or Juliette usually seemed to get through when no one else could.

They pulled up alongside the curb outside the shop and Hank waited to make sure that Nick was actually going to exit before he began undoing his seatbelt and got out. Even so, he and Nick exited at the same time. The Grimm was trying to appear as though he was fine but Hank could still see the pain in his posture.

"Nick, what happened?" Rosalee greeted in surprise when she spotted the pair.

Hank looked over at Monroe who shied away a bit, looking sheepish. "I thought you were going to call her and tell her what had happened?" the detective questioned.

At this, everyone turned their attention onto the blutbad who gave a non-committal shrug.

"I _may _have left out a few things," he answered, stretching the word 'may'.

"I'll say," Hank said, guessing at precisely why he'd left out certain details.

While they talked, Hank and Rosalee got Nick into the back room and sat him down on the bed. Nick winced as the springs bounced him up and down but he made no sound of pain. It was starting to get on Hank's nerves, actually, the stoicism. It was so completely obvious that Nick was in pain, despite what he was pretending otherwise, and yet the man still seemed determined not to admit it.

"Okay, both of you, out," Rosalee commanded. Her gentle nature was still there but when she said something, Monroe generally went along with it as though she were a commanding officer.

Knowing that Nick was in good hands with her, Hank left the room and closed the door behind him.

**oOo**

Nick heard the door close and he felt it vibrate through his pounding head with surround-sound force. His eye twitched as he stifled a wince but that was all the show of pain he would allow.

He'd known from the first hard hit that Monroe wasn't sticking to the plan. He'd also known that he could have matched the blutbad force for force and given his friend the same beat-down that he was determined to give him. But he didn't. Somehow, Nick felt that he deserved the beating that he was being given and so he'd allowed Monroe to vent.

It wasn't until he'd landed in the kegs, twisting his wrist beneath his weight – though you wouldn't have known it since he'd pretended that he was fine – that he'd begun to match the blutbad's force. Even so, Monroe kept up his strength and landed one last well-aimed kick on Nick's side, sending him flying towards Hank and the chef and bruising his ribs in the process. It seemed that that was the last of Monroe's anger and he appeared to simmer down and go back to the plan after that.

From then on the night was a bit of a blur. Between convincing the chef to confess and pretending that he was absolutely fine sans the cut by his eyebrow had taken up all of his concentration and all he'd wanted to do was go home and sleep it off. He knew from experience that the bruised ribs wouldn't heal that quickly but he'd decided to take care of that in the morning.

It appeared that he wasn't going to be allowed to do that, however, as Hank practically had pushed him in the direction of the Dodge and then proceeded to inform him that he was going to go to the Spice Shop and have Rosalee take a look at him. She may not be a doctor but there wasn't any doubt between the three men that she'd have something in the shop that could help with the pain.

"Nick," Rosalee's gentle voice called, grabbing his attention.

He looked down at her – she was kneeling on the floor in front of him – and she raised her eyebrows.

"What happened?" she asked, apparently repeating herself.

"Got into a fight," Nick replied, making sure to do his best not to implicate Monroe since it was obvious the blutbad didn't want to be brought into it. That was one thing he had heard – that Monroe had left out certain details – and while he'd found it amusing, he respected the blutbad's wishes.

"How badly are you hurt?" she asked, looking a bit confused, though sympathetically so.

"I'm fine," he said, doing his best to make her believe it.

"You know, no offense Nick but I know you're lying," she said, calling him out. She gave him a smile to let him know that she wasn't upset. "So, how about you tell me how you're really feeling?" She reached out and gripped his injured wrist, making him gasp in unexpected pain. "I can already see that you've sprained your wrist, so what else is hurt?"

The idea of telling Rosalee 'what hurts' made Nick want to laugh. Since he knew that that _would_ hurt, and a lot, he stifled the urge and settled for smiling instead, though it didn't last near as long as it normally would have.

Rosalee chuckled a little, apparently getting why he was smiling.

"Okay, I know it sounds like I'm treating you like a child, but it's the best way for me to determine how to help you."

Getting it, Nick nodded and then proceeded to stop with a wince.

"Uh, my head is pounding a little, my side is a little sore, and my knee aches a bit," he summarized, focusing on the specific parts of his body that hurt. He was surprised by the knee hurting, but he didn't spend too much time contemplating what was wrong with it.

"Okay, let's see what's wrong," Rosalee said, almost as though to herself. She reached out, hesitantly, and lifted his shirt to take a look at his side. Her wince let him know how ugly the bruise was without having to see it for himself. "Was the attacker wesen?" she asked as she began to prod the tender side.

"Ho!" Nick cried out in spite of himself. He hadn't been expecting the sudden surge of fire that had seared through his side at her touch and therefore hadn't been able to stifle his reaction to the pain. His body clenched and his torso tried to curl into the pain. Her hands stopped him before he could hurt himself more and he leaned into their chill.

"Sorry," she said, wincing a little bit in sympathy. She got off the floor and went over to one of her shelves, pulling a jar of something off as she did so. She came back and knelt back down. The sound of metal upon glass echoed through the room and seemed to reverberate through his aching head, as she unscrewed the lid and set it aside.

This time when he sucked in his breath, it wasn't from pain but from cold. The ointment that she was gently spreading across his side was cold and thick, almost sticky like honey. Her fingers were careful as she ghosted over the tender flesh, rubbing the goo in.

Once she'd finished with his side, she gingerly grabbed his arm and began adding the ointment to his wrist. Here she added a bit more pressure, making sure to get the salve spread as evenly and as thoroughly as she could. It hurt and once or twice Nick had to stop himself from snatching his arm out of her grasp, but he let her do it since this was the reason he'd come.

After she'd finished with his side and wrist, Rosalee got up and grabbed a couple compression bandages that Nick knew she kept around for when one of the boys was hurt and didn't want to – or couldn't – go to the hospital. She nimbly wrapped one around his hand and halfway up his forearm and then began to wrap the other one around his side. The throbbing in both areas quieted down exponentially once they'd been treated and Nick wondered whether it was because of the ointment or the bandages.

"Okay," Rosalee said on an exhale. "Let's see what's wrong with your knee, shall we?"

She tried pushing his pants-leg up, but she couldn't get it high enough to examine the joint and so she stopped. Without a word, she got up and went over to a drawer, pulling out what appeared to be a pair of exercise shorts before coming back.

"Here," she said, tossing Nick the clothing. "You're going to have to take off your pants in order for me to get a look at your knee. You can wear those until I'm done."

She then proceeded to turn around, giving Nick as much privacy as she could while remaining in the room so that he could change.

Eyeing the shorts warily, Nick began to do as was expected. He was stiff and sore from the fight and his head sent a merciless throb throughout his brain, ending just behind his right eye, but he managed to do it and rather swiftly. His knee was swollen and hard to bend so he'd had to work around that, his eyes quickly cataloguing the signs of a strain before he slipped the shorts on and sat back down.

Rosalee turned back around and once again knelt on the floor so that she could examine his knee.

"Did Monroe do this?" she asked as her hands wandered around the outside of the bruising.

Nick was too stunned to answer for a minute and then his breath was stolen from his lungs when she began feeling around the knee-joint itself.

"What makes you think that?" he asked, panting a little as his erratic breathing awoke the fire in his side. The cold of the ointment was back, this time being worked into his knee, and he felt himself relax a little.

"I know that you two had a plan for getting the chef to confess," she began, her eyes remaining focused solely on her task. "And I also noticed the bruises on Monroe's face which coincided with the tearing on your knuckles."

She briefly looked up to gauge his response and then looked back down, switching the jar out for another bandage.

"I thought the fight was staged," she said as she began wrapping his leg.

"It was," Nick granted, unsure of what all he should say.

"Monroe didn't stick to the script?" she asked, once again looking up. She nodded when he said nothing and got up to go wash her hands. "I was worried that he wouldn't."

At this, Nick's eyebrows rose and he found that his attention was focused on her. She smiled sadly at him as she explained.

"He's had some difficulty sweeping your fight with him, the captain, and Hank under the rug. A part of him realizes that it wasn't your fault but the rest of him feels hurt, in a way, that you didn't recognize him as a friend and stop."

Feeling his eyes begin to fill with tears, Nick looked down. So he'd been right. Monroe had wanted some payback. And he highly doubted that tonight was enough to suffice – if he was as much an animal as Hank had described him to be.

"I see," he said, clearing his throat so that he could sound a bit steadier. He blinked, allowing the tears to fall harmlessly onto the floor and then took a big breath in, willing the rest of them away. "Well, maybe when I get better, I'll let him get it out of his system."

The words were meant to be an assurance. Something to show that he wasn't angry or bothered by the honesty. Instead they came out sounding just as bitter and hurt as he felt and Nick cringed at the sound of it.

Small but strong arms wrapped around him as he found himself engulfed in a hug. She was mindful of his injuries as she slipped under his left side so that she could hold him up a little as well as not hurt him further.

Shocked though he was, Nick returned the gesture as much as he dared. He was at a loss as to explain _why _Rosalee was currently hugging him. After all, he'd tried to kill – apparently – her boyfriend – and his best friend – as well as his partner and boss, not to mention the backhand he'd given Juliette. Why would she feel it was necessary to give him comfort after he'd done all that?

"Nick, listen to me _very carefully,_" she instructed as she pulled away. She kept a grip on his arms, her touch gentling when he winced at the pressure she'd put on a couple bruises there. "None of this was your fault. You are not the monster that you believe yourself to be and you are not to blame for how you acted. You were poisoned and you would have died if you'd been left untreated for too much longer."

"That doesn't negate the fact that I tried to kill Monroe, Hank and the Captain," he argued, unable to dismiss the events of the past week or so away as easily as she was. Maybe it was his stubbornness but he just wasn't able to let go.

Rosalee stepped back, offering him a little smile. "No, it doesn't," she granted. "But it doesn't automatically condemn you either."

_No, everyone else seems to be doing that, _his mind immediately grumbled. Even so, Nick kept his mouth shut. Having the same conversation over and over again wasn't helping anything and it wasn't changing his mind. There was no longer a need to keep having it.

"Well, thanks for the help," he said, beginning to limp towards the door. It was then that he stopped and thought about what he was wearing. He painfully pivoted and offered her a slight smile. "Any chance I could have my pants back?"

**oOo**

Rosalee walked back into the main part of the shop, closing the door to the back room behind her. Nick was changing out of the gym shorts and back into his pants. She had reservations about whether or not that was a good idea but she'd kept her mouth shut. It was cold out. And besides, the shorts were Monroe's and she doubted that either Nick or Monroe wanted to have Nick take them home.

Hank and Monroe sat in separate chairs, the silence between them seeming comfortable enough. Every once in a while they would look at each other and then some form of communication would pass between them but it was always silent. When they noticed her, their attentions focused on her, the question of how Nick was doing in their eyes. Their concern for their friend was heartwarming but it wasn't as though Nick was in very grave danger so she also found it a bit odd.

Leaving the two of them to stew in their own worries and minds, Rosalee went behind the bar and started organizing a few orders that she had coming in first thing in the morning.

She wasn't sure how she felt about Monroe using the staged fight to pay Nick back. On the one hand she could understand it. Like she'd told Nick, he'd been struggling to reconcile himself fully to the knowledge that it hadn't really been Nick who had tried to beat him to death. His more animalistic side wanted, needed, payback and it seemed that it got it tonight. Being the only one who hadn't been hurt by Nick, Rosalee probably wasn't a good judge. She knew from talking with her that Juliette was having troubles with letting Nick touch her. Every time he tried to get close, she would put him off, telling him that he needed rest or she would minutely flinch at his touch. It was getting better, she'd been told, but it still happened. So who was she to condemn Monroe for trying to settle things in his own way?

The door to the back room opened and Nick exited. He still moved stiffly but, thanks to the liniment that she'd applied, it had lessened by a lot. He limped - albeit barely - out into the main room and did his best to hide his injured wrist from his friends, offering them tired smiles.

"There, the doctor has seen me. Can I go home now?" he asked, practically whining. Rosalee had to stop a smile from creasing her face at the tone in his voice as it was kinda cute to hear that coming from a 30+ year old man. Evidently the only reason he'd come was because Hank and Monroe had forced him to.

"I don't know. Doc, how is he?" Hank asked, now forcing her to answer their question from earlier.

"He'll be fine," she said. Then she looked expressly at Nick, wanting to make sure that he got the upcoming message loud and clear. "Providing he takes it easy for the next week, he'll be good as new."

"Well, as much as I'd love to just sit around at home, I'm not sure I'll be able to manage that," Nick quipped, essentially pointing out that 'taking it easy' was simply not in his job description.

"Then it'll take a bit longer, but eventually, you'll be fine." She smiled, knowing that they both already knew that. "And now it's time for the Spice Shop to officially close. So if you don't mind, gentlemen, it's time for you all to go home."

"Come on, I'll drive you home," Hank said, jerking his head in the direction of the Dodge that was parked outside. "Thanks Rosalee."

"Yes, thank you," Nick added, his smile genuine.

"Anytime Nick," she answered, meaning it. She didn't like how often this group got hurt but she was happy to help.

The two left the shop with the bell on the door ringing their exit.

"So," Monroe said, a little too cheerily. "What should we do tonight?"

Rosalee cuddled up to her boyfriend. She loved the way his eyes glowed red with pleasure every time she did that. As well as the growl that bubbled in his chest as he held her close.

"Well," she said, drawing out the pleasure a little bit longer. "I figured we could close up the shop, go home, and go to bed."

"And here I thought we were actually going to do something fun," he pouted with a slight scoff. "This is punishment, isn't it?"

"What would you need punishing for?" Rosalee innocently asked as she gathered up the things she'd used for Nick and put them away. "I mean, you only beat the crap out of your best friend."

She looked over her shoulder in time to see Monroe wince. "He told you about that, huh?"

"Actually, no. I had to guess. He was very vague about what had happened to him."

"He was?" Surprise not only sounded through Monroe's voice but it also shone on his face. Had Monroe thought that Nick would seriously sell him out?

"Yeah, he was," she answered on a laugh. "I don't think he wanted to get you into trouble." She paused, debating on saying what she was going to say next and then added, "Or maybe he thought he deserved the pain."

"That's ridiculous," Monroe scoffed, throwing an arm around her shoulders and walking out onto the midnight Portland street with her.

"Is it?" she challenged, looking up at him and separating them.

"Well yeah," he answered as though it was perfectly obvious.

"Why's that?"

"Because what happened while he was a zombie wasn't his fault. He knows that."

They climbed into Monroe's VW and then started heading for their house. Rosalee was tempted to respond, taking her parting shot then and there, but she refrained. She waited until they had entered the house and had the door locked before she answered.

"I imagine it's hard for him to believe that when his closest friends are punishing him for it. One way or another."

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Okay, so I'm sure that Juliette was aware of the case with Ostler, but I'm pretending that she wasn't privy to a lot of it. Sorry if you don't like it but that's just how it worked out.

oOo

When Nick walked through the front door, Juliette froze. She hater herself for her reaction to him but she couldn't help it. Every time he walked in on her unexpectedly, she saw the zombie version of him and it scared her. She hoped that she hid her reactions from him - and judging from the lack of mention of it from him, she had - because she didn't want him blaming himself for anything else. Nick seemed to be carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders lately and she didn't want to add to it.

Tonight he scared her more than usual. She had been expecting him for quite some time; so long, in fact, that she had actually begun to be less alert and simply sit and wait. So when he had finally come, she had been more surprised. Then there was the cut over his right eye. Though it wasn't bruised and red like his eyes had been when he'd been a zombie, it still made her flash back to that night and she flinched, fidgeting to hide the action and then standing up.

"What happened?" she asked with real concern. He looked exhausted, and though the cut was small, she also noted a bandage wrapped around his wrist and a limp in his step.

Nick gave her a tired smile and grabbed at her arm with his injured hand. Giving her arm a little rub, he said, "It's nothing. A suspect was a little more resistant to being taken in."

"I thought that your suspect was a chef," Juliette argued, knowing that there had to be more to it than that.

Nick nodded, making his limping way into the living room before gingerly sitting down on the couch. "A bauerschwein." When he noticed that that didn't necessarily mean anything to her, he added, "It's kind of like a pig. They're not violent by nature, but this one was hell-bent on revenge."

"And he took that out on you." Juliette still didn't necessarily believe him but as the idea seemed probable, she couldn't very well rationally argue against it either. He nodded but that was all the reply she was going to get. From where she stood, she could see that his eyes were drooping and staying shut longer every time he tried to reopen them. "Come on," she said and his eyes snapped open. She held out her hand, more than okay with physical contact when she was the one to initiate it. "Let's get you to bed."

His movements were slow and sluggish as he reached up and grabbed hold of her hand. As gently as she could, Juliette helped ease him off the couch and then proceeded to herd him up to the bedroom. The stairs were slow-going and got even slower with every stair he climbed. By the time he'd gotten to the landing at the top, his limp was very heavy and, if possible, he was moving even more carefully. Whatever had happened tonight had left him hurting.

While Nick got undressed and climbed into bed, Juliette went to the bathroom and pulled out some Tylenol. Sadly, she doubted that it would make much of a difference in how Nick was feeling but as it was the strongest painkiller they had in the house, it would have to do. After grabbing the medication, she filled up the spare glass that they kept in the bathroom for when they got thirsty and didn't want to go downstairs and then took both over to him. Nick's face seemed frozen into an expression of pain, his breathing shallow from it. His eyes opened when she came close and once again, Juliette found herself having to refrain from flinching back. She had to stop doing that!

"Here," she said, handing him a couple pills and the glass of water that she had filled. She waited until he'd swallowed them both down before replacing the cup back in the bathroom. She was careful climbing into bed next to him, worried about accidentally hurting him more.

Quiet filled the room. Juliette assumed that he had fallen asleep and so she remained silent while she, too, tried to rest. When he spoke, then, she jumped.

"Why do you do that?" he asked, his voice almost sad-sounding.

"Do what?"

"You flinch when I reach out to touch you," he observed and this time she could definitely hear sadness in his voice. God, she did not want to have this conversation right now.

"Look, Nick, I know that what you did while under the influence wasn't your fault. But, it's hard for me to separate that you and you you." He scoffed and she winced, realizing how that sounded. "Okay, that didn't come out right." She paused to gather her thoughts and organize them. Sitting up and positioning herself so that she was facing him with her right hip by his, she grabbed his left hand and held onto it. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw tears streaming down the side of his face and the pain in his eyes. She hated that she had been cause of them both. "I know that you would never hurt me," she earnestly assured. "But it's going to take some time for me to reconcile the zombie you as different. You wore the same face and used the same hands; it's just going to take some time."

Even without Nick taking his hand out of hers, Juliette had felt him withdrawing from her. The reminder of what he'd done while a zombie always made him do that, and the fact that she was also reminding him that he'd hit her wasn't helping. They hadn't actually talked about what had happened, beyond the result of the guy dying in the bar fight. It was too sensitive a subject for Nick, and herself she realized, for either of them to bring it up.

When Nick looked at her again, the tears and pain were still there but there was also pleading. His right hand flinched as though he had planned on reaching out to her but had stopped himself. "I am so sorry," he said and Juliette thought that she could hear begging in his voice. He needed her to forgive him, for them to go back to how they were. But as much as she wanted to as well, she couldn't yet. As she had said, she needed time.

"I know," she said, "and I forgive you." Relief flooded his face and this time it was her that pulled away. "But I still need some time," she said, now lying down on her side, though still facing him.

Another tear fell, soaking into the light blue pillowcase. Nick blinked, refusing to look at her, choosing instead to remain focused on the ceiling. "Get some rest," he said, his voice rougher than usual.

Juliette reached out and gently ran her hand down the left side of his face. He winced and she briefly wondered if he had been hit on that side and she just hadn't noticed it. Pulling away and turning over so that her back was to him, she curled into her pillow, doing her best to shut out the nightmares that she knew waited for her. "You too," she whispered. Then, in the sill silence of the room, Juliette slept.

oOo

By the time that morning came, Nick felt much worse. The bruises had settled and his muscles were stiff and sore. His head pounded so much so that he dreaded opening his eyes and letting the sun in. When his alarm went off, Nick jumped mildly, eyes shooting open. With a groan he closed them again and simply laid there. Work was going to suck a big one today.

"Nick, you okay?" Juliette's voice called from the bathroom. No doubt she was getting ready for an early-morning appointment. His alarm went off a little after six in the morning and she usually didn't get up until after that.

"Yeah," he called back loudly enough to be heard through the door. With a more stifled groan, he slowly sat up, hissing when his bruised side groaned in protest. I should call in, he thought. Yeah, and what would be your excuse? You can't exactly say that you got beat up by a supernaturally-strong creature. Abandoning that thought with a grimace, Nick stood up. He readjusted his stance so that he wasn't putting quite so much weight on his injured leg and then began to limp around. Coffee was definitely needed.

He hadn't gone more than ten steps when his phone, which still lay on the table beside his side of the bed, started ringing. Clenching his teeth, Nick made his way back over to the bed and then grabbed his phone. Seeing Hank's name on the caller ID, Nick settled onto the bed, doing his best not to pant as he answered, "Burkhardt."

"Hey, how you feeling?" Nick smiled, appreciating that his partner didn't mince words first thing in the morning. Actually, he sounded amazingly awake given the hour. Of all the people what were not morning people, Hank was king. He hated the mornings, often not coming in until around ten, at least two hours after Nick got there.

"Good morning to you too," Nick joked. "I'm fine."

Through the phone, Hank snorted. "And I'm George Clooney."

"Well, you are always telling us how ruggedly handsome you are." They both knew that Nick was hurting but it was good to banter. It was a step in the direction of normality and with the way things had been the past few weeks, normal was definitely needed.

"Should I tell the Captain that you won't be in today?"

Nick shifted on the bed, getting back up. Sometime during his brief talk with Hank, Juliette had finished in the bathroom and had gone downstairs. Nick, obviously, hadn't heard her but he could smell the coffee that she had brewing in the kitchen. With his teeth clenched, he slowly started gathering his clothing, laying them on the bed before heading into the bathroom.

"Why would you do that?" he asked as he grabbed the towel and set it down on the closed toilet lid. Nice as this house was, it did have some inconvenient corners. One of the towel racks, the one that Juliette used, was close to the shower, but the other was clear across the bathroom, leaving Nick with always gathering it before he stepped into the shower.

"Nick, I know you're hurting." Hank's tone suggested that the banter was done and that he was serious now. "It's fine if you would rather take a day off."

"So I can do what? Watch my girlfriend flinch every time I get near her?" Since Hank was being so serious, Nick decided to be so as well. What he hadn't anticipated was the bitterness. He'd meant the statement to come out as a joke, not as a vent for some of the frustration he was feeling.

"Nick," Hank said, his tone a mixture between a sigh and pity.

"Yeah, Hank, I get it. I wasn't myself and nobody blames me. But the thing is, Hank, I think you all do blame me, at least on some level."

Nick felt himself growing angrier and angrier. Oh, he knew that they all had a perfect right to feel as they did; that since he blamed himself, he couldn't fault them for doing the same thing. The problem came in that they kept telling him that they didn't. Nick either wished that they'd stop giving him meaningless platitudes or they'd let it go and stop reminding him about all the things that he'd done wrong lately.

There was silence on the other side of the call where Nick assumed that Hank didn't know what to say. With a sigh, Nick pinched the bridge of his nose with his injured hand, though it did nothing for the headache that pounded through his skull. "Look, I'll see you at the precinct, okay?"

Another beat of silence and then, "Yeah, okay. But if you think that you're going to be doing anything more than paperwork today, you are sorely mistaken."

Nick smiled, hanging up without responding. They never knew what their work day had in store for them so Nick knew that neither one of them truly had a say in what Nick did or didn't do today at work, though he wouldn't put it past Hank to get the Captain to force Nick to stay at the desk.

As that was all a worry for later, Nick turned the shower on, waited for it to warm up, and then got inside. Whatever would be, would be, right?

oOo

Juliette went upstairs, carrying two cups of coffee in her hands. She'd heard Nick's phone ring and since she doubted that he'd be up to going up and down the stairs twice this morning, she figured that she would go down and get the brew going. Then, when she heard the shower kick on, she decided that she'd bring him up a cup instead.

When she walked into the bedroom, she was half glad that the bathroom door was open and half surprised. She was glad because it meant that Nick wasn't trying to create any more distance between them then they already had, but she was also surprised because she had expected him to want to lick his wounds in private, as it were. Still, since the door was open, Juliette took the cup in there to him, stopping in the doorway in shock.

Nick stood with his back to her, awkwardly trying to shave using the mirror. He hadn't seemed to notice her yet so she settled for simply staying where she was and staring. The left side of his back had tendrils of reds and blues stringing towards his spine. They reminded her of some sort of grotesque wall vines, alive with their own malicious intent, seeming to move of their own accord, though she knew that that was simply because he was moving his left arm some. He shifted a little, giving her a better view of his left side and she stifled a gasp as she saw the bruising surrounding the middle of his ribs.

"Is that for me?"

Jumping, forgetting that she had been staring without his permission, Juliette's gaze flicked from his injury to his face, his blue eyes a little icier than normal. They flicked to the coffee cup in her hands and she shook herself. "Yeah, sorry," she said, though what, specifically, she was apologizing for, she couldn't say. "Are you sure you should be going in to work?"

"Why does everybody keep asking me that?" he almost growled exasperatedly. "I'm fine,"

"That doesn't look fine," she retorted, her eyes once again sneaking down to look at his side. "Are you sure that nothing's broken?"

Putting down his razor and, limpingly, turning to face her, Nick grabbed the coffee cup from her outstretched hand. "Yes," he said with enough strength to assure her that he thought it true. "Believe me, I would know if it was."

That was true enough, but Juliette was still doubtful. Now that he was facing her, she had a chance to examine him a little better and her frown returned. He was obviously trying favoring one leg but with the towel wrapped around his waist, she couldn't see the cause; she could only tell that it wasn't because of an ankle injury. But that wasn't what had her frowning. It was his side. It looked so much worse from the front, the different hues of a deep, painful bruise coalescing into a single, pointed spot. "Did someone kick you?"

This time she stepped closer, the girlfriend in her mixing with her skills as a healer - albeit of animals - taking over completely. Setting her own coffee down, she gently forced him to lift his arm so that she could take a better look. She didn't dare touch the truly painful-looking part, but she did skim just around it. It was enough to let her know that, as he had said, nothing was broken, but his breath had caught and he had hissed in pain.

"You should put some ice on that before you go in," she said, stepping back to give him some room.

"Juliette, I'm fine," he replied, this time with more affection than annoyance. Again, his hand twitched but he made no further move.

Getting frustrated with herself, and with her own weakness, Juliette stepped forward, grabbed his right hand and placed it against her cheek. He winced, reminding her that that hand was injured as well, but otherwise showed nothing on his face.

"I know that I said that I needed time," she said, staring determinedly into his eyes, "but never refrain from reaching out." He brought his other hand up to her cheek, lowering his right, and she continued, "I need time to get over this but that doesn't mean that I don't want to feel your touch. Okay?"

Nick swallowed, tears welling in his eyes, though this time they weren't from pain. "Okay."

She leaned in, giving him as passionate a kiss as she dared to at the moment, then withdrew. "I have to go," she said, going into the bedroom and grabbing the light jacket that she had planned to wear today. "Ice your side before you go in."

"Yes mom!" he called back, his voice trailing down the stairs after her. She rolled her eyes but smiled nonetheless.

Things would get back to normal soon enough. For now, she was running late.

oOo

Monroe sat at his worktable, seeing but not really focusing on the small clock that he was supposed to be working on. His fight with Nick last night nagged at him. Oh sure, he knew that Nick was, essentially, fine, but he couldn't stop guilt from clawing its way into his gut and nesting there. What Rosalee had said last night had struck a chord with him. He knew that they all had to get over the trauma the Baron had caused, and he knew that it hadn't been Nick who had dished out the beating. But some part of him simply couldn't fully get over it.

"Monroe?" He looked to his right where Rosalee stood in the doorway. "Do you want to come to the shop with me?"

Looking at his complete lack of progress with the clock, Monroe sighed and set his tools down. "Yeah," he answered, getting up and grabbing his coat. "I could use a change of pace."

oOo

The day at the Spice Shop passed quickly. It was busy, the steady influx of costumers keeping Monroe and Rosalee on their toes. Between running into the basement for whatever herb they were almost out of and helping the random person who simply 'couldn't wait' for Rosalee to help them, Monroe was left with little time to think.

Then, somewhere around four, they had a lull. Monroe was in the process of making tea when the door opened and the bell rang. Rosalee had gone to grab them some "lunch" and so it was left to him to help whomever it was that was out there. Sighing, Monroe pulled the teapot off the stove and slipped into the main portion of the shop.

"Juliette," Monroe greeted, happy to see a friend, "what brings you here?"

The redhead spun, clearly surprised to find him, and only him, in the shop. Still, she smiled, enveloping him into a hug shortly after. "Hey, Monroe, is Rosalee here? I kind of needed to talk to her."

"No, I'm sorry. She just left to grab us something to eat. If you want, I can call her."

"No, that's okay, I'll call her later, or something." Instead of leaving right away, as Monroe had expected her to, Juliette bit her lip and stayed where she was. After about a minute she said, "Actually, can I ask you something?"

"Sure. Here, come to the back, I've got some hot water ready for some tea."

Together they went into the back room where Juliette settled on one side of the workbench and Monroe the other. Monroe patiently waited for her to begin, curious yet wary of what it was she wanted to talk about. The last time she had wanted to talk to him - or Rosalee - she had wanted to know about Wesen and has asked them both to woge. Though he knew that there hadn't been many secrets between Nick and Juliette since then, Monroe was still, and always would be, hesitant about offering to answer Juliette's questions.

"Nick said that he had been attacked by a resistant suspect last night," she said, and Monroe let out a breath, grateful that the grimm hadn't told her that it was him who had beaten on him. "He said it was a pig-like wesen. Do you know..are they usually pretty violent?"

"Well, that kind of has a complicated answer to it," Monroe said, unsure of how to respond.

"The last time you told me that, you were trying to cover for Nick's being a grimm," Juliette accused, albeit without much anger in her voice.

"No, they aren't usually prone to violence," Monroe answered, giving in. "But Chef Ostler was a special case."

"So you knew of it then?"

"Yeah, you could say that." Monroe sighed. "He killed a friend of mine with his food and Nick asked me for help in bringing him in." Okay, so it had more been Monroe not giving a rat's ass if Nick helped while Rosalee begged the grimm to do it, but Juliette didn't need to know that. "Let's just say, that he didn't go down without a fight."

"So you were there?" Her brows furrowed and then she asked, "Why didn't you help Nick?" Crap! He hadn't meant for her to make that connection. Since he didn't know how to respond to that, he didn't, which was evidently a worse mistake as it then led Juliette to ask, "Monroe, what aren't you telling me?"

Oh boy! Did Monroe truly want to tell her the truth? Could he lie to her yet again? The answer to both questions was no but since that created a conflict of interest, Monroe decided that he had to choose.

"It wasn't the chef who fought with Nick," he said, slowly and almost wincing by the end of it.

"What?" she asked, looking confused.

"The chef wasn't who Nick fought. It was me."

"Monroe!" she cried, though not angrily.

"I know! I know!" Monroe offered by way of explanation. "Look, I know that we all agreed that Nick didn't know what he was doing and that none of what had happened was his fault, but, last night, facing him, I just kinda reverted back to that night and kinda snapped."

"'Kind of snapped? Monroe, the bruising on his side was so bad that I had to assure myself that he didn't have a broken rib or two."

"I know, alright?!"

Now Monroe was agitated. He had gone over all of it time and time again but he still came to the same outcome - with Nick bruised and slightly bleeding in an alleyway. He was ashamed to admit that it had actually made him feel better, that somehow he and Nick were even, and should someone ask, Monroe would deny it vehemently, but there it was.

Standing up, Monroe began to pace, his wolf feeling trapped by the accusation he thought he could hear in Juliette's voice. It wanted to snap at the redhead, bark at her to back off, to leave him alone. A growl escaped him and he could feel a woge start, but he held it back, fighting it. It wasn't her fault; in fact, she had every right to be angry, though she doubted that anyone was as angry as himself, or possibly Nick.

He stopped when Juliette got in his way, damn near growling again at the intrusion. When he looked down into her face, he didn't find anger, an accusation, or anything of the like. Instead, he found understanding and forgiveness, and it was almost just as bad.

"Don't," he practically begged. "I don't deserve that."

"Why not? Monroe, we're allowed to let things get to us. Sure, you could have chosen a better time to tell Nick how you felt, but at least you didn't do more harm."

"I would have had Nick not reigned me in," Monroe admitted, his eyes going red at the thought of last night. Oh yes, he would have if Nick hadn't started fighting back.

"Maybe," she allowed, though she didn't look like it mattered all that much. "But you didn't. Monroe, you and I both know that, had you wanted to truly hurt Nick, you could have, and Nick wouldn't have stopped you or blamed you."

"I'm not so sure about that," he grumbled, somewhat appeased.

Juliette smiled but didn't respond right away. Finally, she said, "You should talk to Nick. It could help." Another pause and then, "It helped me."

She leaned up to give him a peck on the cheek then left, letting him mull that over until Rosalee came back with their food.

TBC


End file.
